In Exchange
by SparklingIcicles
Summary: When Stiles is kidnapped, the pack must come together and find a way to save him before time runs out.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, have you studied for the history test?" Stiles asked as he and Scott stepped out of the jeep in front of the school, slamming the door shut behind him.

"What?" Scott said blankly, looking around the parking lot for Allison.

"What do you mean 'what'? Dude, you know you're failing two classes already," Stiles said incredulously. "That test tomorrow is worth, like a third of the grade for the semester."

"Oh," Scott said. "Yeah. I guess I'll just study tonight. I was gonna meet up with Allison anyway, so maybe we'll go over her notes or something."

"Yeah, you're not going to study with Allison."

Scott smiled guiltily. "No, probably not. Oh, hey, there she is. I'll meet up with you later, alright?" and Scott saunters off without another word.

"Okay, yeah, that's cool" Stiles called after his best friend's disappearing back. "I'll see you later!" Stiles sighed and hiked his backpack up on his shoulders. "Hey, Lydia," he said, seeing the redhead stalking towards him. "What's-" Lydia brushed past him, eyes fixed on Jackson, who was leaning against the door of his Porsche. "up. Nothing. I'll just go to class then," he said to no one, looking longingly after Lydia. "Yup, no one cares."

* * *

"Where were you last night?" Lydia demanded, putting her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. Though she and Jackson were no longer dating, they maintained a physical relationship. Or so Lydia had thought. "You said you would be at my house by midnight. I stayed up for nothing! Now I have these awful bags under my eyes." She flicked her hair out of her face, as if to give her ex-boyfriend a better view of her eyes.

Jackson dramatically rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Something more important came up."

Lydia gave an offended scoff. "Excuse me, did you say 'more important,' or was I hallucinating from the toxic fumes of your cologne? Just to let you know, there are hundreds of boys who would _kill_ to spend a night with me. What you're getting is a privilege."

"We're not together anymore. Get over it," Jackson smirked, stepping around his ex and heading up the steps into the school building.

Lydia huffed and stormed after him, fully ready to lash out the arrogant prick again.

* * *

Scott scooted through the door just as the bell was ringing and sighed in relief. He wasn't technically late for once. "Mr. McCall," Mr. Burkle said from his position at the board. "Nice of you to join us. Why don't you take a seat?"

"Yes sir. Sorry." He slid into his customary seat behind Stiles.

"So," Stiles said, without looking away from the front of the room, where Mr. Burkle had begun drawing simple graphs on the blackboard, trying to explain functions and how to graph them. "How's Allison?"

"She's good. We, uh, we didn't talk much," Scott grinned.

"No, of course you didn't," Stiles murmured, turning his head fractionally to look at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "You do know that her grandfather's the principal here, right? The one who wants to wipe out all the werewolves in Beacon Hills with a burning passion? The one who knows about your hairy little secret, right?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "So?"

"So, I'm just saying it may be a good idea to not make out with her at school where her psycho granddad can see you, you know? You don't need to give him another reason to want to chop you in half like a freakin' samurai."

"I think I'm okay. We have an understanding. Besides, everybody's so worked up about finding out who that lizard thing is. No one's going to notice if me and Allison are late to class every once in a while."

"Do you guys want to step out into the hall to continue this conversation? Or should I just send you down to the principal's office to let you finish your little chat with Mr. Argent?" Mr. Burkle interrupted. The boys looked up to see their classmates staring back at them, sniggering.

"Um, no sir," Scott answered somewhat nervously. "We're done."

"Oh, good," said Mr. Burkle, smiling. "Then you won't mind coming up to the board and graphing this function for us, will you?"

"No sir, not at all," Scott said, shooting Stiles a worried look. "Dude, what the hell is a function?" he asked under his breath.

"I don't know, I was talking to you."

"Awesome," Scott muttered.

"Any time you're ready, Mr. McCall," Mr. Burkle prompted.

Scott managed to goof off at the board, drawing several made up graphs, moving decimal points, and solving for x at least 7 different times in varying degrees of incorrectness, for about ten minutes before Mr. Burkle gave up on him and let him sit back down.

"Miss Martin, perhaps you'd like to show Mr. McCall where he went wrong."

Lydia looked up from her desk, where she had been filing her already perfect nails. "No problem."

Lydia stopped a couple of steps from the board, looking at Scott's hopeless attempts. "Well, let me clean up this mess first," she said, making a dramatic show of erasing everything Scott had done. She then proceeded to solve the problem without a moment of hesitation. "There," she said, finishing her graph with a flourish. "All done."

"Thank you, Miss Martin," praised Mr. Burkle, raising an eyebrow at Scott, who half-smiled back as Stiles slid down in his seat.

"My pleasure," Lydia simpered, taking her seat and folding her legs neatly beneath her desk.

* * *

"Well, that could have gone better," said Stiles several hours later as he and Scott climbed into the beat up jeep. Their last period of the day, English, had been a train wreck start to finish. It began with Scott coming in late for the second time that week after a rather lengthy meeting with Allison at her locker between periods and ended with Stiles trying to explain that his book report over an Ultimate Spiderman comic should still be acceptable because of its deep literary themes and the fact that it was a comic _book_. Scott had forgotten to do his entirely.

"At least you did yours. I thought it was due next week," Scott complained. "I didn't have any time to read anything last night. I had to close up at work and had to go see Allison before she had to go to bed. I didn't have time to do anything by the time I got home, and even if I did, Derek just randomly showed up in my room to talk about who that lizard person could be."

"Yeah, well, it was assigned a month ago, so.." Stiles reasoned, pulling out of the parking lot into the street. "Does Derek still think it's Lydia?"

"I don't know, maybe. It doesn't seem like he knows much of anything about it one way or another."

"And he thinks you do?"

"I think he might. He's still suspicious of Dr. Deaton, too, though. He wants me to keep an eye on him in case something happens."

"What? Derek can't creep on him himself?" Stiles asked, making a screechingly sharp left turn. "He doesn't seem to have a problem stalking you."

"I guess he's still training Isaac, Boyd, and Erica."

"Maybe he only has time to stalk one person now that he has to try to teach three bloodthirsty werewolves to mind their manners during their monthly cycle," Stiles suggested as Scott rolled his eyes. Stiles pulled into the vet parking lot. "Try not to forget about the history test," he nagged as Scott got out. "Remember, it's-" Scott closed the door and waved as he walked in the vet's office. "a third of your grade. Man, why is everyone doing that today?"

* * *

Stiles had just finished up his French homework when the Sheriff knocked once and opened his son's bedroom door. "Hey, you finish your homework?"

"Yeah, I actually literally just finished. What's up?" Stiles asked, standing up from his cluttered desk. His dad was back in his uniform, even though he had been off since six that night and wasn't due to be back at the station until the next morning.

"Nothing that concerns you. I got a call and have to go into the station for a few though. I'll be back before you go to school."

"Why, what happened? Was there another weird attack? An animal attack? A break in? Is somebody dead?" Stiles asked quickly, sitting on the edge of his bed, shoving his shoes back on. "I'm coming with you."

"Stiles, stop it, calm down" Sheriff Stilinski said. "You're not going anywhere, but to bed. It's probably nothing anyway."

"Nothing, I couldn't help with, you mean," Stiles tried, smiling.

The Sheriff looked at his son. "You wanna help me? Stay home. Stay out of trouble for once. Go to bed. I mean it."

"Dad," Stiles moaned.

"No, Stiles. If you're not in bed by the time I leave, you're going to have a very long weekend, working in the yard, got it?"

"Got it."

"I'm not messing around here."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. Stiles stays here. Got it."

"Good," Sheriff Stilinski said, closing the door behind him.

Stiles waited a few seconds, listening to hear if his dad had left. Hearing nothing, he hurriedly finished putting his shoes on and went to grab his jacket off the back of his desk chair when his door opened again.

"Don't. Even. Think about it," Sheriff Stilinski said, raising his eyebrows at his son.

"Nope. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about anything really. No brain activities going on, at all," Stiles said, sitting on his bed and kicking his shoes off again.

"Uh huh," said the Sheriff. "Good night."

* * *

Stiles actually stuck to his word and went to bed early. He didn't wake up until heard a creak on the stairs. His dad wasn't due home for hours. Curious, Stiles stuck his head out his bedroom door, squinting out into the dark hallway. "Dad? Is that you?" Any further investigation was stopped dead in its tracks when Stiles' own aluminum baseball bat was brought sharply down against his temple and the world went black.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. The only original character (so far) is Mr. Burkle.  
**

**A/N: Hey! Please let me know if I should continue with this or if I should let it go. **


	2. Chapter 2

Sheriff Stilinski pulled into his driveway, surprised to be parking behind Stiles's faded blue jeep. It was surprising because it was nearly 8 o'clock and his son was supposed to have left for school by now. So now, rather than changing clothes, grabbing a quick breakfast of bacon and taking a nap, the sheriff would instead have to drag Stiles out of bed, into the shower, and out the door before school started in just a few minutes.

"Fantastic," the sheriff said to himself, slamming the car door forcefully behind him and stomping across the yard to the house. "Just what I needed." Getting to the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He was absolutely sure he had locked the door behind him when he left the night before. As a matter of fact, he even remembered tugging on the knob to make sure it was locked tight, a habit he had gotten into after Stiles had rattled off some horrible statistic (something about the effectiveness of dead bolt locks declining in wood-walled frames after a certain number of years due to weathering) one night over dinner.

Sheriff Stilinski sighed, getting frustrated now. Stiles must have snuck out last night after all, despite the sheriff specifically asking him to stay at home, and forgotten to lock the door behind him when he got back in. "Boy, I hope you like working in the yard," the irritated man said to himself, pushing to door open with perhaps more gusto than entirely necessary, "'cause you're gonna be doing a whole hell of a lot of landscaping for me this weekend."

"Stiles!" he yelled. "School starts in twenty minutes. You better be out of here in ten!" The sheriff poked his head into the kitchen, expecting to see dirty dishes in the sink or maybe his own tardy son hurriedly wolfing down some cereal. The room was just as he had left it the night before. Sheriff Stilinski huffed, taking off his utility belt and lying it counter before throwing some bread in the toaster. At least Stiles could have a little bit of breakfast in his jeep on his way to school. The sheriff waited, staring at the toaster as if that would make the bread cook faster, and listening for the sound of his lackadaisical son getting out of bed and rummaging around his messy room for some clothes. There was nothing.

"Stiles!" the sheriff shouted again, listening. The house was still. The silence was unnerving. Surely Stiles must have heard his father coming in the house and calling for him. It wasn't like Stiles to ignore the sheriff outright, preferring to make some sort of witty retort.

"Hey, Stiles?" the sheriff called up the stairs, straining his ears for some reassurance that his son was indeed in the house. Still, there was nothing. "Stiles!" he called again concernedly, taking the stairs two at a time. "You here, son?" There was nothing but his own echo reverberating off the thin plaster to answer him. Getting to his son's door, he forwent his usual knock, instead throwing it open. He half-expected Stiles to still be in bed, dead to the world despite his father's loud shouting, or for him to be sitting at his computer, doing some last minute research either for class or to satisfy his own curiosity. The room was empty, the desk just as disorganized as ever, the blankets from the bed falling onto the floor, as if Stiles had gotten up suddenly in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and never made it back to bed.

Sheriff Stilinski proceeded to check the bathroom, his own room, and anywhere else he could think of where Stiles might have wandered off to, calling for him, his heart sinking further and further with every empty room. Stiles could be irresponsible and disrespectful, but he wasn't so careless as to leave the house without sending his dad text or writing him a note explaining that something had come up and he had to leave. Walking back down the hall to his son's bedroom to check for such a note, the sheriff tripped over something that clanked as it rolled away from him. It was Stiles's bat. _Huh,_ Sheriff Stilinski thought, picking up the forgotten bat, _Stiles usually leaves this thing by the front door. Did he bring it up here after I left_? Turning it in his hands, a bit of rusty red caught the sheriff's eye. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the lawman to recognize it right away. Blood. Stricken, the sheriff knelt down in his son's doorway, inspecting the worn carpet. Sure enough, a handful of telltale red drops were splattered just outside his son's door.

The awful realization washed over him. Last night, someone had broken into his house and gotten to his son. Stiles was missing.

* * *

Scott was starting to get a little worried. Stiles had picked him up for school every day since he got his jeep, but he had never shown up that morning. He didn't even answer any of Scott's calls, asking where he was. After waiting around to see if maybe Stiles's phone had died and he was actually on his way, Scott made up his mind that he would have to get to school by himself. Sneaking into the woods, he shifted into his werewolf form and ran to school, getting to the parking lot at the same time he normally would if he were riding with Stiles. He had waited with Allison by her car, looking around to see when his best friend would get there. Allison waited with him until two minutes before school started, then had to get to class before she was counted late. Scott stayed in the parking lot another five minutes, earning himself a detention after school that day from Mr. Burkle.

Scott was staring out the window, thinking of asking Lydia if she had heard from Stiles at all, when he heard his name being called.

"Mr. McCall."

"Yeah, sorry" he said, turning his attention back to the front of the room. Mr. Burkle was staring at him with a concerned look on his face. Stiles's dad was standing next to him, looking anxious.

"Sheriff Stilinski would like to talk to you."

The sheriff nodded his head towards the hall. Scott jumped out of his seat and followed his friend's dad out of the room. Something was definitely wrong.

"What's going on? Where's Stiles?" he asked as soon as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind them.

"That's what I was you hoping you could tell me," Sheriff Stilinski admitted. "Stiles wasn't home when I got back to the house this morning. Did he call you at all last night? Did you come over?"

"No, I haven't heard from him," Scott answered honestly, eyebrows knitting together. "I haven't seen him since he dropped me off at work yesterday. I tried calling him a couple times this morning, but he never answered."

"I know he didn't, I have his phone," the sheriff said. "You haven't seen him or heard from him at all then since yesterday?"

"No. Why would he leave his phone if he went somewhere though?" Scott asked. He was usually the one forgetting his phone or keys, not Stiles. "He wouldn't leave it behind."

Sheriff Stilinski sighed, looking at the tiled floor before meeting Scott's worried gaze. "Look," he said, "I didn't want to say anything until I had more information, but I'm pretty sure Stiles has been taken."

"What?" Scott asked, shocked. "What do you mean 'taken'? Taken by who?"

"I don't know yet. I found his baseball bat by his room and there was blood on it."

"Oh my God," Scott breathed.

"It's with forensics, but I'm pretty sure it's Stiles'," said the sheriff, rubbing his forehead. "There was some blood on the carpet outside his door. Not a lot, but enough for me to think somebody probably hit his head with it, knocked him out to get him out of the house without a fight."

"Do you think he's alright?" Scott was nearly beside himself with guilt. Maybe if he'd been focusing a little less on Allison and a little more on his friends, he would have noticed something out of the ordinary; maybe someone following Stiles around or acting suspicious. Instead, he had nothing, no clue as to who could have wanted to hurt his best friend.

"I can't say for sure," Sheriff Stilinski answered, his voice hoarse, as if he were struggling to keep his composure. "There wasn't much blood on the bat or the floor, but he might have a concussion, depending on how hard he was hit."

"I can't believe this is happening," Scott groaned, leaning his head back against the row of lockers. Just when things were going back to normal, or as normal as they could be in a town full of werewolves and mysterious lizard monsters, it was like his world was coming apart.

"We're going to find him, Scott," Sheriff Stilinski said firmly, grasping Scott's muscular shoulder roughly. "I've been to the hospital and talked to your mom. She's going to ask around and see if anyone's heard or seen anything. She'll let us know if he turns up there. I need you to try to see if you remember anything. Anything out of place or someone acting odd. Just keep an eye out and let me know if you see or remember anything. Got it?"

Scott nodded. "Yes sir."

The sheriff squeezed Scott's shoulder hard before letting go, giving him a smile that was more of a grimace, and walked away, leaving Scott to pick up the pieces as his world slowly crumbled around him.

* * *

"Derek!" Scott shouted, skidding into the abandoned train station where the alpha had taken up residence. "Get out here, we need to talk!"

"What?" Derek asked, leaning casually in the entrance of the long-forgotten subway car, looking largely unconcerned. Scott could have sworn he hadn't been there a second ago.

"You have to help me. Stiles is gone."

"Gone?" Derek asked. "What do you mean he's gone? Gone where?"

"I don't know! He's missing; someone kidnapped him," Scott said. "You have to help me find him."

"And why would I do that?" Derek asked, the tiny amount of interest his face held a moment ago vanishing. "You've made it clear you don't want to be a part of my pack. So why should I help you?"

"What?" Scott gasped, appalled.

"Why. Should I. Help. You." Derek repeated.

"Um, have you not come to me for help, like, a thousand times?" Scott said, voice rising. "Were you not just at my house a couple nights ago asking about that stupid lizard? I've helped you every time!" Scott was shouting now. "Every time you've asked for help, I've helped! This is Stiles!"

"I know, Scott," said Derek, dropping his arrogant stance. "But I have to look after my own pack right now."

"He could die!" Scott yelled. "He's my best friend and he could die if we don't find him!"

"Yeah, and so could everyone in this town if I don't look after my pack!" Derek countered. "Scott," he said, calming "I'm sorry. But I can't help you. You need to look after your own pack right now. You and Allison. Even Lydia and Jackson."

"Derek-"

"The bite is a gift, Scott," Derek interrupted. "Use your gift and find your friend."

* * *

Scott sat on his bed, turning his phone over and over in his hands, wanting Stiles to call and knowing he wouldn't. He couldn't help thinking of the last time they had spoken, Stiles pestering him about that stupid history test. He may have been a little irritated at the time, but he knew Stiles was just looking out for him. He'd even cut his visit with Allison short the night before to study, only to leave school early the next day. He hadn't needed to study after all. _God,_ he thought. _Was that only yesterday?_

He was brought out of his reverie by his mother knocking on his already open door.

"Oh, hey mom."

"Hey, honey," Melissa said, slowly entering the room to sit on the bed next to her son. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm okay," Scott lied.

"Really?"

Scott nodded.

"Because you don't seem okay."

"I just," Scott's voice threatened to break and he cleared his throat. "I just don't understand who would want to do this to Stiles."

"Neither do I," Melissa said, putting her arm around him. He leaned into her embrace automatically. "I talked to Stiles's dad at the hospital today."

"Yeah he said. Did you find out anything?"

Melissa shook her head. "Not yet. But it hasn't even been 24 hours yet. He'll turn up. Everything will be okay, you'll see."

"Yeah?" Scott desperately wanted to believe her.

"Yeah."

* * *

Miles away, Stiles screamed.

* * *

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: Thank you for the favorites, follows, and reviews! Seeing such a positive response to this fic really helped us get this second chapter out quickly. This is a sort of collab project between my friend (the editor) and I (the writer). This being said, we're going to try to update on a somewhat regular basis, but please forgive us if we are a bit late, seeing as we both have school or work and have to find time to get together to write. Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: Violence**

* * *

Stiles woke to a sickening throb in his temple. "What the hell…" he muttered. His mouth felt like it was full of old socks and his brain seemed to be buffering more than it was processing. He remembered being struck with the baseball bat the night before, but he either didn't see who his attacker was or couldn't remember, due to the apparent concussion. Wincing, he opened his eyes a sliver only to squeeze them shut again. The dim, dusty light seemed too bright for his eyes after spending so long closed. Stiles blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust. Finally, his vision cleared enough for him to take a look around.

Stiles was in a small dark room, the only light coming from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It looked like he was in some sort of garage, as there was a rolling door directly in front of him. A regular metal door stood next to it. The cement floor was cold beneath Stiles' bare feet. There were no windows to let in sunlight, though he couldn't even be sure if it was even daylight outside, and apparently no heater in the little garage. Stiles' teeth began to chatter, whether from the cold or from fear he couldn't tell.

Another painful twinge from his head stopped Stiles' from further investigation. Stretching his neck to the side, Stiles heard a gratifying popping sound, easing the crick in his neck. He tried to reach up the message his aching head, but couldn't pull his hands up from where they were in his lap further than a few inches. Startled, Stiles looked down, noticing for the first time the handcuffs locked around his wrists. He yanked harder, trying desperately to break the sturdy chain that wrapped around his chair's metal brace to no avail, the cuffs only cutting into his skin.

The fogginess in his brain vanished. He was trapped here, wherever here was. He tried to raise his hands high enough to feel around in his pockets for his phone before remembering that he was still in his pajama pants. Though they had pockets, he was sure he didn't grab his phone before getting out of bed to check the noise in the hall the night before. "Probably don't have any service in here anyway," Stiles said out loud, trying to reconcile himself, his voice echoing slightly around the small room. Even if the phone hadn't have worked, he could have used it as a flashlight and it would have been at least something familiar. His dad could have turned on the GPS in it to find him, too.

Oh, God. What was his dad going to do? Stiles imagined his dad coming home and finding his room empty with no trace of where he had gone. If curly fries put a strain on his dad's heart, what would coming home to find out his son's gone missing do? Though, Stiles reasoned that he wasn't technically missing yet. There were no windows or clocks in the room, so he couldn't really be sure of how long he'd been out, but he felt sure it couldn't have been more than a day at most, more likely just a few hours. He wondered if his dad had even started looking for him yet. Maybe if it was somebody else's kid who was missing, but he couldn't imagine his dad waiting around just on a technicality. _If only I'd taken my phone with me,_ Stiles cursed himself. _I could have already been out of here._

Maybe Scott could track him down. He'd know something was up when Stiles didn't come to pick him up for school in the morning and would start looking for him right away, whether he was technically missing or not. Plus, he had his superhuman werewolf sense of smell now. Sure, not as good as GPS, but better than nothing, right? Though, Scott hadn't ever really had to use it to track someone down like this before, and Stiles couldn't even be sure that he was still in Beacon Hills at all.

Stiles pulled at the handcuffs again, straining with all his might against the chain that kept him hooked to the cold metal chair that was bolted to the floor, keeping him in place. He had to get out of there. He stood as best he could, trying to get more leverage, a better angle. He tugged until he felt as though the handcuffs may slice all the skin off his hands in his desperate attempt to get free. Sweat beaded on his bruised forehead and his arms began to shake. Nothing helped. He sank back into his seat, panting slightly from the exertion. Blood ran down his long fingers from the lacerations on his wrists, dripping onto the floor.

He stared at the small puddle of pooling blood, not seeing it. His panting breaths turned into gasps as his hands started shaking. He couldn't get out of there. He couldn't break the cuffs. His vision started to tunnel. What if he was too far away and Scott couldn't find him? What if Scott found him too late and he'd died of dehydration? There wasn't any water in there. His mouth suddenly went dry at the thought. What would his dad do if he died? He'd already lost his wife. He'd be all alone in that empty house.

Stiles was just starting to hyperventilate when the metal door suddenly opened. Stiles' head shot up, startled enough to pull him out of the impending panic attack. In the doorway stood a man he had never seen before. He was about his dad's age, maybe a little younger, with short dark hair cropped close to his skull. He was big, filling up the whole doorway, only a little bit of daylight coming in around him.

"Well, look who's finally awake. The way you dropped when I hit you with that bat, I wasn't sure you were ever going to wake up." The strange man shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it.

"Yeah, well, you didn't give me an alarm clock in here so…" Stiles trailed off, trying not to show how scared he was.

The man chuckled. "Funny man, aren't ya? Is that why your werewolf friends keep you around, haven't turned you yet? Don't want to risk their pet human getting killed."

Stiles must have looked surprised, the man smirked at him. "Oh, yes, that's right. His name's Scott McCall, right? Derek Hale's little protégé. Word of his little moonlight talent has spread around more than you know."

"Who are you? What do you want with Scott?"

"Name's Brett, but that doesn't matter to you, does it? No, you want to know why, if I'm after your buddy Scott, I've brought you to this little slumber party."

"Not much of a slumber party. No pizza, no pillow fight. I didn't even bring my pillow. You're going to have to call my dad. I can't sleep without it."

"Really? You didn't seem to have a problem falling asleep after our baseball game last night, and judging from that nasty bruise on the side of your head, you probably couldn't keep any pizza down, anyway."

It was true though. Stiles' stomach was already churning from his earlier run in with the baseball bat. His effort to escape and subsequent near panic attack hadn't helped matters, either.

"Why am I here?" he finally asked. "You said you wanted Scott. Why'd you take me?"

"Hey, now, don't sell yourself short there, Stiles." Brett walked around the back of Stiles' chair, making him crane his neck to watch the man. "I never said that I wanted Scott over you. I want Scott to do something for me, and he can't very well do me any favors locked up in here, can he? No, I wanted you. You're leverage."

"Leverage? Leverage for what?"

"Come on, Stiles, I thought you were the smartest one in that pitiful little pack. Well, the smartest one besides that pretty redhead friend of yours." Stiles stiffened in his seat. He was one of the few people he knew how smart Lydia really was. The fact that this stranger knew so much about him and his friends was unnerving.

"You're Scott's best friend. You really think he wouldn't do anything to get you back? It was between you, his mom, and his girlfriend. His mom's always at the hospital and it can be damned hard to take somebody from the hospital, especially a firecracker like her. Then, Scott's always with Allison, so there's no chance to take her without his immediate notice. But you? You're always alone, aren't you Stiles?" Brett came back around to face the restrained boy, smile on his face, voice dripping with mockery. "Scott always with Allison, Daddy always at work. Nobody there to protect you, is there? I took you because it was_ convenient_. You being our Scotty's BFF is just icing on the cake."

Stiles took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "And what do you want him to do?"

"Do you know what happens when you get bitten by a werewolf?" Brett asked, kneeling down in front of Stiles.

Stiles answered by way of a hardened stare.

"You either turn into a werewolf, like your friend Scott, or your body rejects the bite. Do you know what happens when your body rejects the bite, Stiles?"

"Yeah, you die."

"Usually, yes. And let me tell you, it is an awful way to go. Your body is literally fighting itself, tearing itself apart until it feels like your insides have been put through a blender and you're begging for death." Stiles' stomach gave another nauseated flip. "Not pretty.

"However, there's another possibility. Not very common, granted, but it has been known to happen. Stiles, do you know what a kanima is?"

"Sounds like some sort of flower, but I'm just throwing that out there."

"A kanima is a shape-shifter like a werewolf," Brett continued, unfazed by Stiles' attitude "but instead of turning into a wolf, the kanima transforms into a snake and can be even more powerful than its hairy cousins. Horrible scaly thing. Ring any bells?"

"Wait, wait," Stiles interrupted, shaking his head in disbelief, aggravating his throbbing headache. "You kidnapped me because you're after that lizard thing?" Was _everybody_ obsessed with that thing?

"Snake, not lizard. But yes. Scott knows something, whether he's willing to admit it or not. Those shape-shifters always stick together."

"And you want him to what, play fetch and bring you this kanima thing?"

"Not necessarily, though that certainly would make things easier. No, I just want to know who it is. I can take care of the rest."

"Look, man. Scott doesn't know anything about this lizar- or kanima person. We've been trying to figure out who this guy is for weeks and haven't come up with anything. Scott can't pass science, let alone figure out the identity of some mutant killer snake!"

"I think you may be underestimating our friend Scott," Brett straightened back up. "I think he could work wonders, given the right persuasion."

"What do you mean 'persuasion'?" The throbbing in Stiles' head was reaching a crescendo, black spots danced in front of his eyes. Though he was trying not to show it, Stiles wasn't sure how much longer he could stay upright without throwing up or passing out.

"Don't worry about that just yet," Brett said wickedly. "Let's give Scott some time to stew first. Besides," he moved to the door, "looks like it's just about nap time for you."

The door slamming shut behind Brett was the last thing Stiles heard before darkness took him again.

* * *

Stiles woke to the sound of something scraping against the cement floor. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, but felt it must have been for a couple of hours at least. His vision cleared enough to find the source of the scraping noise. Brett was back and was setting up a video camera on a tripod across from an exposed pipe on the far right of the room. "What are you doing?"

Brett looked up, startled. "Good morning, or evening I should say."

"What's the camera for?" Stiles asked again.

"I think Scott's had enough time to think, don't you? We're going to make a little home video to show him I'm not playing around here."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "You're sending Scott a movie?"

"No, I'm sending your _dad_ a movie, I'm sure he must be worried about you." He finished fiddling with the camera and went over to the wall, pulling on the pipe, testing its strength. "Being sheriff, he must know the dangers out there in the big bad world. I'm just going to send it along with a little message for our buddy Scott, help get his brain going. Now, let me get you out of that chair. You must want to stretch your legs a bit."

Brett dug a set of keys of his pocket. Squatting down, he unlocked one side of Stiles' handcuffs, releasing him from the chair. Stiles rubbed his bruised, cut wrist. "There," said Brett. "That's better, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." Stiles swung back his still-cuffed right fist, landing a punch to Brett's eye, and lurching towards the door. He had to get out of there _now_. He wasn't sure when he'd be released again. Before he could make a break for it, Brett returned the blow, hitting hard and fast, knocking Stiles back into the chair.

"Don't waste my time, Stiles," Brett said, suddenly towering over the boy, eyes cold. Any trace of joking that had been there before had vanished, replaced by a business-like sterility. "I'm much stronger than you are and don't have time for stupid moves like that. Save yourself the trouble and do what I say. Now come on." He grasped Stiles by the neck and pulled him roughly to his feet. For once, Stiles didn't have a witty comeback. Brett drug him over in front of the camera and reattached the handcuff, the small length of chain between the bracelets looped around the exposed pipe at Stiles' waist. Stiles tugged against his bonds, though he already knew both the cuff and the pipe wouldn't break.

Brett reached into a black duffel bag Stiles hadn't noticed before, taking out a ski mask. Sliding the mask over his head, the man started the camera. He reached back into the bag and pulled something out. "Stiles," he said calmly. "Do you know what these are?" Brett dangled the item in front of Stiles, showing the camera. Stiles said nothing, his expression stony. He would not look weak in front of his dad.

"These, Stiles, are called brass knuckles," Brett said, sliding the rings into place. "These let me hit harder in a smaller area, letting me do more damage than if I hit with just my fist like you did a minute ago." He punched Stiles' eye, mirroring the boy's earlier blow. Stiles felt his skin split away from his cheekbone, the iron of the knuckles tearing across his face. He fell back against the wall, but managed to stay on his feet.

"See?" Brett was saying. "Isn't that much more effective? Let's go again, maybe some body shots this time. Don't want to mess up that pretty face. Daddy won't recognize you."

Blow after blow rained down upon Stiles, cutting through his shirt and into his flesh. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, trying desperately not to make a sound, not to show weakness. He only cried out as he heard one of his ribs break, the sound of the bone snapping somehow worse than the actual pain.

He fell to his knees, screams escaping his lips despite his attempts to bite them back. Still, Brett never let up. The seconds felt like days as the constant barrage of blows befell him. Finally, after what seemed like years, the world mercifully went black.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and its characters in no way belong to me. Only the original characters of Mr. Burkle and Brett do.**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. This chapter was really hard to write. Please let me know what you think!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I got sick, then my editor got sick, so everything's been up in the air. So this chapter is extra long to make up for the lack of updates.**

**Warning: Violence**

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that Sheriff Stilinski finally forced himself to go back into the station the day after his son had gone missing. He had spent a sleepless night sitting at the cluttered desk in Stiles' room, eyes fixed on the unslept-in bed, mind wandering. He kept hoping that Stiles would somehow slip in through the window or try to sneak through the door with some poor excuse for why he'd been gone, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He'd gotten Stiles' bat back from the forensic team earlier that evening. They had confirmed that the blood marring the bat was indeed his son's. He couldn't stand seeing the now rusty blood and had cleaned it off as best he could with an old handkerchief that he then stuck back in his pocket, just in case. Dawn came too soon, marking that Stiles had been gone for over 24 hours, officially classifying him as a missing person.

He walked into the station a few minutes late, but no one said anything about it. He walked up to the deputy's desk and pulled in a deep breath to steady himself. "Can I get a missing person's report?"

The young man offered a sad smile as he pulled the form out of a filing cabinet behind his desk. "Sure. Here you go, Sheriff."

Stilinski filled out the form quickly, trying to get it over with as fast as possible. "Thanks," he said, handing the completed document back to the younger officer.

"I'll make sure it gets filed right away, sir. Oh, I almost forgot. A package arrived for you before you got in this morning. It's on your desk."

"Right. Thank you for signing for it."

"Actually, it was just sitting by the door to the station when I got here," the deputy explained. "It had your name on it."

"What?" the Sheriff asked, more to himself than to his deputy, and hurried over to his office.

A plain manila envelope sat waiting for him on the desk, the words _Sheriff Stilinski_ printed neatly on top. There was no address, no return label, nothing else to identify the package. The sheriff's hands shook slightly as he cut open the envelope. This had to be related to his son's disappearance. A ransom note perhaps. Something. Anything.

Carefully, he shook out the envelope's contents. An unmarked and apparently homemade DVD along with a small bag fell out onto the desk. Ignoring the bag for now, he slid the disc into the computer and sat down to watch.

* * *

Scott stood at his open locker, staring blankly in. He couldn't remember why he'd opened it in the first place as he already had his math textbook for first period. He felt as though he was in a daze, as though he was watching the world from the outside. Stiles being gone was too bizarre. Stiles being kidnapped was even worse. It still didn't feel quite real to him. Sure, he had talked to Derek, who was no help at all, and his mom about it, but it still felt like this wasn't real. Being at school without him didn't help. How could Stiles just be gone? His locker suddenly slammed shut in his face, startling him out of his stupor.

"What are you doing?" Lydia asked pointedly, her eyes blazing, hand on her hip.

"What are you talking about?"

"Stiles is missing and you've just been standing there, staring in your locker for five whole minutes. Is he in there, or are you just being stupid as usual?" Lydia snapped.

"Wait, how did you know Stiles was missing?" Scott asked.

Lydia shot him a condescending look. "Please. You think I wouldn't know about something like this? No. Stiles wasn't in school yesterday and I was there when his dad called you out of class. Not really that hard to put together. Besides," she said, rolling her lips, "Allison told me."

"Oh," said Scott.

"But what I really want to know is why I had to hear it from your girlfriend-"

"She's not my girlfriend," Scott interrupted.

"She kind of is," Lydia patronized. "Anyway, the real mystery here is why I had to hear it from Allison instead of from you."

"I didn't know you cared so much about him," Scott replied, nearly smiling. Stiles would have a heart attack if he knew Lydia Martin was worried about him.

"I don't," she said, taken aback. "Just because we don't talk all the time doesn't mean that I want him kidnapped by some psychopath."

"Right."

"So," Lydia said, stepping closer. "What's the plan?"

"Plan? What plan?"

"The plan to get Stiles back," Lydia said, exasperated.

"Well, um..."

"You don't have one, do you?"

"Not yet," Scott admitted. "I'm working on it."

"So your best friend gets kidnapped in the middle of the night and you don't have a plan to find out who took him? You, who seems to be the epicenter of every weird thing that happens in this crazy town and has to meddle in every little thing, don't have anything?"

"No!" Scott said a little too loudly as several heads turned in their direction. Lydia raised her eyebrows expectantly. "No. I mean, yeah, I'm gonna try to find him, I just don't have real plan yet. I'm still working on that."

"I hope so, for Stiles's sake." The bell rang as Lydia turned on her heel and marched down the hall, leaving Scott to look after her retreating back, nonplussed.

* * *

The overhead bell rang as Scott went in to work. School had seemed impossibly long, like every moment he spent at a desk, pretending to take notes or staring out the window was a moment wasted, a moment he could have been using to find Stiles. He didn't even notice that all the teachers, even Mr. Burkle and Mr. Harris, had avoided calling on him all day. All he could think about was Stiles' ever present empty seat beside him. Even Allison couldn't distract him the way that was usually her specialty. He'd noticed her presence and her sympathetic glances, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to talk to her too much just yet. He just wanted to talk to his best friend.

"Scott," said Dr. Deaton, coming out from the back examining room. "I wasn't expecting you to come in today. I'm very sorry to hear about your friend."

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "I'm just not sure what to do, you know? It's like, everyone is expecting me to find him and I don't have anywhere to start."

"You do know that you aren't the only one looking for Stiles? His father is the sheriff, you're not doing this alone."

The bell went off again, stopping their conversation.

"Sheriff Stilinski," said the vet. "What can I do for you?"

The sheriff glanced at Scott before addressing Deaton. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute, Doctor."

"Sure, would you mind excusing us, Scott?" The doctor nodded towards the back room.

"Yeah, no problem." Scott left the two adults alone, heading back into the examination room.

Once Scott was out of sight, the Sheriff dug a small bag out of his pocket. "I got a package, an unmarked package, at the station this morning, from whoever kidnapped Stiles. There was a video," he cleared his throat. "Anyway, these came with it." He handed the bag over.

The vet shook four or five claws of different sizes out into his hand. "These appear to be wolf claws."

"Wolf claws? All of them?"

"Yes, from several different wolves of different ages. See, this one," Deaton held up the biggest claw, its edges rough and worn, "is from an older adult wolf, possibly an alpha, while this other one," he pointed to the smallest claw, "came from a much younger wolf, still in its adolescence. Why the kidnapper would send them to you, though, I couldn't say."

"No, of course not," the sheriff muttered.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more of a help," Deaton said sympathetically, pouring the claws back into the bag.

"No, you've been a great help. Thank you," said Sheriff Stilinski as took the claws from the vet. He was almost to the door when he turned back. "Look, would you, would you tell Scott not to worry? I'm going to find Stiles."

The vet nodded and the sheriff left. Scott came back around the corner having heard everything thanks to his keen werewolf sense of hearing.

"Wolf claws?" he asked. There was no way it could be a coincidence. Not in Beacon Hills. Whoever had taken Stiles wasn't really after his friend, they were after him.

* * *

An arrow sank deep into the bark of a tree, another shaft poking out of a neighboring tree only a few feet away. Allison loaded another arrow into her crossbow. Practicing her marksmanship helped take her mind off things and the forest was quiet in the evenings, far enough away from the streets that she couldn't hear the traffic and early enough that the monsters that hunted in the dark were still tucked away, waiting in shadows for the moon to rise.

She lined up her next shot, aiming for the tall pine just a few feet beyond her previous target. Despite the peacefulness of the forest, she couldn't help but think about her missing friend. No, she and Stiles had never been very close, seeing as Allison kept mostly to Lydia and Jackson when she wasn't with her quasi boyfriend and Stiles still had difficulty carrying a coherent conversation downwind of Lydia's perfume. The biggest thing they had in common was their love for Scott. Allison recognized right away, even on her first day in Beacon Hills, that Stiles would do anything for him, and that Scott would do anything for his best friend in return. Even now she felt like an outsider when left alone with both of them. She knew Scott had strong feelings for her and loved her still, but she couldn't quite match the bond he shared with Stiles. She had tried to track whoever had taken Stiles, sneaking over to the Stilinski house without mentioning anything to Scott or the sheriff, and searching hopelessly for any sign of where the kidnapper had gone. There was nothing to find. Whoever had taken Stiles was no amateur and had covered their tracks behind them. Not for the first time in her life, Allison felt powerless.

She narrowed her eyes as she released the arrow only to widen them in shock as Scott, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, caught the arrow mere inches from his face. Her hand flew over her mouth. "Oh, my God, I am so sorry! I didn't see you at all."

"It's okay. I guess I shouldn't have walked in front of you while you were training," said Scott as he handed the arrow back to her.

"I should've been paying more attention," Allison said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "What are you doing here? I didn't know anyone knew I was here."

"I needed to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Sheriff Stilinski stopped by the vet's office while I was at work today. He said whoever took Stiles sent him a video."

"A video? Of what? Of Stiles?"

"I don't know, he didn't say, but there was something else," Scott said. "He brought in a bag of claws, wolf claws. He said they came with the video."

"Were they all from the same wolf or from a few different ones?"

"Deaton said they were different wolves of all different ages. Like, one was from an alpha and another one was from a younger wolf, like a teenager. Why, what does that mean?"

"That's something hunters do," Allison explained. "They take the claws of the werewolves they've killed, sort of like a trophy. My dad doesn't do that, but I know Gerard does. He has a jar of claws in his study."

"So a hunter kidnapped Stiles?"

"I don't know. That's what it sounds like to me."

"Wait, you said Gerard collects claws?" Scott asked. "You don't think he has anything to do with this, do you?"

"I don't think so. He hasn't done anything out of the ordinary. He had dinner with us the night Stiles went missing. Everything seemed normal. But," Allison said, tilting her head a little bit to the side, "he may know the person behind all this. I'll let you know if he mentions an old friend coming into town."

Scott nodded. "I need to see that video Stilinski got. Maybe there's something on there that could help me track him down."

"Well, how are going to do that?" Allison asked. "It's probably locked up in his office."

Scott smiled. "I have an idea."

* * *

"This is a horrible idea," said Lydia, her hands shoved down deep into her pockets as she shifted her weight from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. It was well past midnight and the temperature had dropped significantly, not that Lydia's short skirt reflected this change. She, Allison, and Scott were loitering beside Allison's car behind the mostly vacant police station. Only a couple officers were still inside, taking turns manning the front desk and answering phones.

"It's going to work," Scott said.

"In what world is this going to work?" Lydia asked, rolling her eyes.

"You and Allison will keep watch while I go into Stiles' dad's office and watch the video. I'll be out in ten minutes, before the guys up front even notice I'm there."

"And how exactly are you planning on getting _into _the station? Kick the door down? Yeah, I'm sure _no one_ will notice that."

"No," said Scott, glancing at Allison for support. She shrugged. "Stiles showed me how to pick a lock."

"Really? A lock?" asked Lydia, still not impressed. "This is the police station! They're going to have a better security system than just a lock."

"Come on, Lydia," Allison intervened. "Give him a chance."

Lydia pursed her lips. "Fine."

"Thanks." Scott bent down in front of the back door. "Do you have a hair pin?" he asked Allison.

"Um," Allison ran a hand through her hair then patted down her pockets. "No, I don't."

"Ugh," Lydia groaned as she pulled the hair pin holding her bangs back in a braid out, shaking her hair out. "Here."

Scott straightened the pin out and inserted it in the locked door. Turning his head away from the girls, Scott's eyes glowed yellow as he listened for the clicking of the lock. "This is never going to work," he heard Lydia whisper to Allison. Allison shushed her.

Finally, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Scott grinned and looked back at Allison. She smiled proudly back at him. Lydia stood next to her, looking shocked.

"Okay," said Scott. "I'm going in."

"I'm going with you," Lydia announced. Scott raised his eyebrows at her. "What?" she asked. "There might be something in the video that leads back to whoever took Stiles, or something that identifies where he's being held."

"Yeah," Scott said. "That's why I'm going in there."

"Remind me, what did you make on your Geography final?"

Scott blushed, but stayed silent.

"That's what I thought. Besides, what am I going to do out here? Watch while ninja warrior here shoots everyone?"

"She's right," Allison said. "She'll be more helpful watching the video with you."

"Fine," Scott said. "But stay with me." Lydia nodded. "See you in a minute," he said to Allison. She loaded an arrow in response as Scott and Lydia slipped through the door.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak into the station. The officers stayed at the front desk, never noticing the two teens walking hunched over down the hall and into the sheriff's office. Lydia shut the door quietly behind them as Scott fumbled to start up Stilinski's laptop.

"Hurry up," Lydia hissed, keeping watch out the door window.

"I got it, I got it," Scott whispered back. "Come here, its loading."

Lydia crouched down next to Scott as the video started playing.

Stiles was standing cuffed to a pipe on the wall. Dry blood stained the side of his face and a deep black bruise on his temple stood out against his pale complexion. He was pulling against the cuffs that were already cutting into his wrists. Scott could see how unsteady Stiles was on his feet. He probably had a concussion.

"Oh, my god," Lydia breathed.

"Stiles, do you know what these are?" asked the kidnapper. He was wearing a black ski mask, obscuring his face. He was huge. He held something up that glimmered in front of the camera. "These, Stiles, are called brass knuckles."

"No, no, no, no," Lydia murmured under her breath.

"Shh," Scott admonished.

"-smaller area," the kidnapper was saying, "letting me do more damage than if I hit you with just my fist like you did a minute ago." The kidnapper reared back and punched Stiles in the face, the brass knuckles cutting deep into his cheek. Scott and Lydia could hear the steel of the knuckles hitting Stiles' cheekbone.

Lydia sucked in a gasp. This time Scott didn't try to quiet her.

"See?" said the kidnapper. "Isn't that more effective? Let's go again, maybe some body shots this time. Don't want to mess up that pretty face. Daddy won't recognize you."

The kidnapper struck again, this time in the stomach, slicing through Stiles' thin gray tee shirt. Stiles was somehow still on his feet, though he was leaning heavily against the wall. The man hit again, this time higher up on Stiles' torso, near the collarbone. Blood blossomed on his tattered shirt. Stiles' eyes were squeezed shut, but blood dripped from his mouth. He was biting his lip hard, probably the reason why he hadn't made a sound yet.

The man punched again and again, never tiring as more and more blood appeared on Stiles' cut shirt. A particularly vicious jab to Stiles' ribs finally brought Stiles to the ground as there was an audible cracking sound. Stiles could no longer hold back his cries as his rib snapped.

Lydia clutched Scott's arm, her manicured nails biting into his bicep. She buried her head into his shoulder, unable to watch any longer.

Still, the kidnapper continued his beating, striking Stiles' side and back as the boy curled up, trying to protect his broken rib as his screams echoed. Cuts opened up along Stiles' protruding spine and under his shoulder blades. A few seconds later, Scott saw his best friend go limp and his cries died away as he passed out. The kidnapper backed up and slipped the knuckles from his hand. He took the camera from wherever it was set up and zoomed on Stiles' lax face, highlighting the deep cut from the first blow. He suddenly switched the camera onto himself. His face filled the camera. "Tick tock," the man said, then the screen went black.

Scott knelt there stunned as Lydia sobbed into his shoulder. Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. His best friend had been beaten to within an inch of his life because of him. He wasn't sure he could handle it.

Lydia pulled away from Scott and wiped her face with shaking hands. Runny mascara ringed her bloodshot eyes. "We have to find him," she croaked out.

"We will," said Scott. His voice shook.

A door banging open startled them both. More officers were coming back to the station.

"We have to go. Now," Scott said. Lydia nodded.

Scott cracked the door open and peered out. More and more officers were coming in, talking gravely amongst themselves. Red and blue lights flashed through the windows.

"What's going on?" Lydia whispered.

"Don't know. They're busy though. Come on, let's go."

They ran as fast as they could while still bent in half, making their way back down the hall to the back door. Allison stood at the exit, waving her hand and motioning for them to hurry.

"Are you okay?" Allison asked once Lydia and Scott were safely out of the station, back in Allison's car, and on the road. Lydia's makeup was smeared and Scott was deathly pale. "What was on the video?"

Lydia shook her head, obviously shaken.

"Whoever took Stiles isn't playing around," said Scott. "He had a mask on so I couldn't see his face. He was a big guy, though."

"He had short hair," said Lydia. Scott looked at her.

"How do you know that? You couldn't see his hair at all."

"Exactly. If he had long hair, you could've seen where it was laying inside the mask. The back of his head would've been bumpy. He didn't have that. So his hair must be short," Lydia explained.

"I saw his face at the end of the video," said Scott.

"I thought you said he had a mask on," Allison said, turning onto Lydia's street.

"He did. But at the end of the video he had a close up of his face with the mask on. I couldn't see much, but he has blue eyes and a silver cap on his tooth."

"Okay," said Allison. "That's something."

They pulled in to Lydia's driveway. "Are you sure you're okay," Allison asked again as Lydia climbed out of the car.

"Compared to Stiles, I'm just fine." Lydia took a deep breath. "We have to find him, Scott."

"I know," he said.

She held his gaze for a moment, then closed the door and went in the house.

"There's something else," Allison said as he backed out of the driveway. "I was keeping watch while you and Lydia were inside and a lot of officers came back to the station right before you came back out."

"Yeah, I saw them," said Scott. "So what?"

"I overheard a couple of them. Apparently there was another weird animal attack."

"Another one? Did they say what did it?" Scott asked.

Allison shook her head. "No. But I think it was whatever that lizard thing is."

"Again?" Scott asked, somewhat annoyed. "Why is everything about that lizard guy? The police can't even focus of finding out who kidnapped Stiles because of that thing!"

"Wait a minute," said Allison. "What if this is about the lizard thing, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would a hunter target you?" Allison asked. "You're not an alpha. Why would someone go after you instead of Derek? Think about it. Derek's an alpha. He's making a new pack. Why would a hunter focus on you instead of him?"

"What are you saying? This isn't about me after all? He sent a bag full of werewolf claws!"

"Exactly," said Allison. "He sent them to the sheriff, who brought to the vet's office where you work. Whoever this guy is, I think he's trying to get a message to you."

"Yeah, a message that he's kidnapping my friends to hurt me!"

"I don't think so," Allison said. "If he could kidnap Stiles so easily, why couldn't he have gotten to you if he really wanted to? He knew to send the claws to the sheriff, knowing he would bring them to you. He must have been watching you, watching all of us for a long time."

"I guess so," Scott allowed. "But how does that make this about that lizard?"

"He must have known that Derek went to you to ask about it. I mean, if he's been watching you, he's probably been watching Derek, too. If Derek thinks you know something about it, why wouldn't whoever this is? The werewolf claws were his way of getting your attention, letting you know that he's a great hunter."

"Yeah, because kidnapping my best friend didn't say that enough!"

"Just listen to me!" Allison persisted. "Why would a hunter from out of town come here and let you know that he's here. If he were hunting you, he'd be covering his tracks, not sending you a calling card. Whatever this new monster is, it must be attracting attention. He didn't kidnap you, he kidnapped Stiles. Why? He wants you to tell him who it is."

"But I don't know who it is!" Scott protested. "I told Derek that the other day!"

"Did he believe you?"

"It didn't seem like it."

"Then this hunter probably doesn't believe you either."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"If you want to get Stiles back, you have to find out what, or who, that lizard is."

* * *

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters**


	5. Chapter 5

The police cars still had their lights flashing, painting the bloody parking lot red and blue, but the sirens had been silenced. Scott and Allison had driven straight to the scene of the latest animal attack to try to find something, anything that would help them find out what that lizard thing really was. Allison had parked a block or so away from the 24-hour pharmacy where the latest victim had been mauled to death. The body had been scraped off the cement and loaded into the waiting ambulance. Scott and Allison were crouched down behind an empty police car just outside the yellow-tape boundary, trying to keep out of sight of the officers still swarming the scene.

"Do you see anything?" Allison asked, her knees pressed against the wheel of the squad car. "What are they saying?"

"I don't know, hold on," said Scott. His eyes turned a glowing yellow as he focused his hearing in on the officers.

Before he could make out anything, a voice came from behind them. "What are you doing?"

Scott and Allison spun around, afraid they'd suddenly been caught.

Derek stood perfectly still, staring down at the pair. Scott shot up. "Us? What are you doing here? I thought you didn't care about Stiles."

"What are you talking about?" Derek asked.

"We think whoever took Stiles is after whatever that thing is that's been attacking people," Allison explained, standing up next to Scott. "There's no reason for him to be targeting Stiles or Scott with whatever this thing is."

"And what does this guy want with it?"

"I don't know," Scott said. "He's been watching us, though. All of us."

"'All of us?'" Derek asked. "What are you saying?"

"He knows you asked me about who I thought was. He's been tailing everyone. Allison's pretty sure he's a hunter."

"What happens if you don't find out what this thing is, huh?" Derek asked. "What happens to Stiles if you can't figure it out?"

"I-" Scott glanced at Allison. "I don't know. Nothing good."

"It sounds like to me that you should be helping me, then," Derek said.

"That's what we're doing here!" said Scott, frustrated.

"Good luck finding anything with these guys here," Derek said, nodding towards the cops.

"We had to do something," Allison protested.

"Like I said, good luck. Let me know if you find anything," said Derek.

"Scott!"

Scott and Allison whipped around. Sheriff Stilinski was standing there with his arms crossed, his eyebrows reaching into his hairline. Scott looked back over his shoulder at Derek, but he had disappeared.

"What do you two think you're doing here?" Stilinski demanded. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"We were in the area and we heard the sirens-" Allison tried to explain, but the sheriff cut her off.

"I don't want to hear it," Sheriff Stilinski interrupted. "Both of you need to get home. Now."

"What about you?" Scott countered. "What are you doing investigating a stupid animal attack when Stiles is still missing? What have you done to find him, anything?"

"Scott," Allison whispered, shaking her head, her eyes huge.

Sheriff Stilinski stood there a moment with his fist clenched, like he was trying to keep himself from slapping Scott. "That's not fair," said the sheriff quietly.

"No, it's not," Scott said, not letting up. "I don't think it's fair that you're standing here, doing nothing and wasting your time on some pointless investigation when your son is being beaten to an inch of his life! You've given up on him!"

"Wait, how do you know Stiles was beaten up?" the sheriff asked pointedly, regaining his power.

"It doesn't matter. We're leaving. Come on, Allison," said Scott, pulling her away from the cop car. "I guess we'll have to find Stiles on our own." Scott dragged Allison back onto the street and stalked off down the block to where Allison had parked. She looked over her shoulder at the sheriff before Scott pulled her out of sight. He stood frozen beside the vacant car before he turned to sit on its hood and buried his head in his hands.

* * *

Stiles woke up slowly. The dim light mixed with the dim dark of his closed eyelids. He was sore all over, as though he had been through a particularly rigorous lacrosse practice the day before. He was seated back in the hard chair with the handcuffs still looped around his wrists. The silver bracelets were thickly flaked with dark, dried blood. The cuts on his wrist had scabbed over while he's been asleep. Stiles flexed his wrists, bending his stiff fingers, stretching what little he could without pain. The scab cracked and Stiles watched as a bead of blood welled up above the thumb on his right hand.

He felt strangely disconnected from his body. There was a wall of fog in which the connection from his brain to his senses kept getting lost. Breathing was hard. It hurt. The bead of blood trickled down into Stiles' palm and disappeared as it filled the fine spider web of lines in his hand. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink for a while now. Not since before he was taken. His stomach ached as it gnawed away at itself and his tongue felt heavy and dry and flat and it filled up his mouth. He wanted to swallow, but he didn't seem to be producing saliva anymore. Instead, he leaned back in his chair to stare at the single light dangling from the ceiling. His skin felt tight and it pulled whenever he moved. The stabbing pain in his chest prevented Stiles from stretching his back out too far, so he stayed somewhat hunched over with his neck craned back. He stared at the light until the world outside of the bulb went black and hazy.

* * *

"This is taking forever," Scott said.

"Keep looking," said Allison.

After Scott had calmed down after blowing up at the sheriff, Allison had driven him home to get a few hours of sleep. Neither had seen any point in going back to the pharmacy parking lot, even after Scott had gotten ahold of himself again. There were still too many cops at the scene, and if Derek hadn't been able to find anything, Scott held out very little hope that he'd find anything worthwhile while searching in the dark, trying to avoid being caught by the police again. Instead, Allison met Scott at the vet's office early the next day, laden with books from her father's study to add to the already large stack provided by Dr. Deaton. Maybe if they could find out what the lizard actually was, they could be able to find out who or where it was that much faster. However, after four hours of pouring over archaic texts, they still had nothing.

Scott sat in silence for a few more minutes, idling flipping through the thin brown pages of some ancient book as Allison studied a huge French volume.

"I wish Stiles were here," Scott mumbled more to himself than to the young huntress.

Allison's eyes flickered to him before returning to her reading.

"He usually does all the research." Scott closed his book and grabbed another from the pile. He thumbed through it, scanning the pages for anything that looked like _lizard_. Feeling even that was taking too long, he resorted to fanning through the text flip-book style when a flash of color grabbed his attention. Turning back several pages, Scott found an illustration of a large, green, scaly beast with a long tale and rounded head.

"I found it," Scott whispered, surprised.

"What?" Allison asked, getting off of her stool to take a look.

"I found it! I mean, at least I think I did. Look." Scott pushed to book towards her.

"'Perhaps even more deadly than the werewolf is the kanima. Related to the werewolf, this snake-man's potentially fatal venom may paralyze its victim with only a few drops,'" Allison read.

"Wait, so the lizard's a snake?" Scott asked, confused.

"I guess so," said Allison. She took the book from Scott and flipped to the next page, her finger trailing down paper.

"What else does it say?" Scott got up to read over Allison's shoulder.

"Nothing," said Allison with a sigh. "Not really. It just goes on to talk about the kanima's long claws then it switches back to talking about werewolf claws. It doesn't seem to mention the kanima again at all."

"What? That's so stupid!" Scott snatched the text back and furiously flipped through the next few pages, determined to find something more about whatever this snake thing was. "Why would it tell us how dangerous this freakin' thing is but not where to find it or how to kill it or anything! They might as well had not said anything about it at all in the first place!" Scott snapped the book closed and slammed it down on the table.

"At least know we know what it is we're looking for," Allison reasoned.

"So what?! We know its name and that the lizard's actually a snake and that it's really dangerous. That's it! How does that help us at all?!"

"We could keep going through the books," Allison tried to suggest, but Scott cut her off, his voice rising.

"No!" He slammed his fists into the metal table. His fingernails had become claws and his eyes glowed yellow. "We've been through all these damn books already and we're no closer to finding where the kanima is hiding or who it is or what it really is! I'm no closer to finding Stiles and who knows what's been happening to him while I've been wasting my time here just to find out this thing's name in these stupid books!" Scott's arm suddenly shot out and swept all the books off the examination table, sending them tumbling to the floor in a flurry of paper. "If this hunter guy can't find out who this snake person is after spying on the entire town, there's no way I can! I've already wasted a whole morning here playing librarian when I could have been doing something to help Stiles, like actually looking for him! You saw the sheriff last night. He wasn't doing anything! I'm the only one who cares, and if I don't find him in time, it's going to be all my fault. It's all my fault."

All the anger in Scott's voice drained out, leaving it creaking and mangled. His claws receded and his fangs shrank. "It's all my fault," he croaked. His knees bent against his will and he sank to the floor amid the scattered books. His eyes burned.

"No, it's not," Allison said softly, kneeling down beside her ex-boyfriend. She rested her hand on his knee. "None of this is your fault, Scott."

"Yes, it is," Scott insisted. "If I had been paying more attention to Stiles, the kidnapper wouldn't have been able to take him. Do you know what the last thing he said to me was?"

Allison shook her head. She'd never seen Scott so vulnerable.

"He was trying to get me to study for a history test because he was worried about my grade. He was trying to look out for me and I just ignored him and blew him off. I slammed the door in his face. He might already be dead, Allison. You didn't see that video; you don't know. The last thing I ever did was ignore him."

"Do you think he's dead?" Allison asked, looking intently into Scott's eyes.

"I don't know," Scott said. He wiped the tears from his face.

"No, look at me and give me a real answer," Allison demanded. Scott met her intense gaze. "Do you think Stiles is dead?"

"No," said Scott. "I'd know. I know I'd know."

"Then he's still alive," Allison asserted. "If he's alive we'll find him. Forget this kanima thing. Just focus on find Stiles. Alive."

Scott set his mouth in a determined line. "Alive."

* * *

Sheriff Stilinski leaned heavily against the countertop of the nurses station, groaning as his back popped loudly. Melissa looked up from her paperwork.

"That sounded healthy," she deadpanned.

"Hmm, what?" asked the sheriff distractedly. The linoleum countertop felt cool through the long sleeve of his shirt and he was tempted to lay his head down on it.

"You look completely exhausted. Seriously, how long have you been here?" Melissa asked. Her shift had started a few hours ago at 7 AM. The overnight nurse explained to her on his way out that there had been another animal attack the night before and that the sheriff was there with the police to talk to the coroner and the victim's family. The grieving family had just left.

"I don't know," Stilinski said. He checked his watch. "The pharmacist was killed around 1:30 and I left the scene to come here at about 3 maybe? So 8 hours, I think." He didn't mention his run in with Scott. The kid had every reason to be upset and he didn't want to get him in trouble with his mom for sneaking out so late at night.

"You need to go home, get some rest," Melissa said. "Let the other officers finish up here."

"I'm alright," the sheriff insisted, though the dark circles under his eyes said otherwise. "I can't sleep well with the house so quiet, you know? I'm so used to Stiles always banging around night and day, it's weird not hearing him."

Melissa sighed. "Yeah, I can imagine. It's odd not seeing him at my house either. You know he has a key to my house, right? Scott gave it to him so he wouldn't have to come in through the window."

Stilinski let himself smile at that. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Look," said Melissa, leaning in closer to the sheriff. "I know you might not be able to say anything because of the whole ongoing investigation thing, but have you found anything yet? About where he might be?" She reached across the counter to place her hand on his. "You know I love Stiles, too. I just want to make sure he's okay."

Stilinski half-smiled back and squeezed her hand. "Yeah, I know. We don't have any leads right now on who might have taken him. I checked the house and the yard, but whoever this guy is, he was thorough. He didn't leave any visible prints behind. We did get a partial picture of his face, though. He was wearing a ski mask, so I could only see his eyes and mouth for the most part, but it might be enough to match up against a mug shot. I have it running through the facial recognition program now, but there's a lot of information to shift through on there. The only thing I can do is wait."

"How long do you think it's going to take to hear something back?"

"Too long. I want him back home now."

"What are you going to do?" Melissa asked. "Can you call somebody? Speed up the process?"

"No, but I _can_ search every inch of Beacon Hills while I'm waiting. If he's here, I'm going to find him."

* * *

Lydia sat in front of her vanity mirror, trying to fix her lipstick. It kept feathering out in the top left corner and any attempt to fix it only served to smudge it more. Her hands kept shaking. She couldn't get the image of Stiles's blood out of her head. His screams had echoed through her mind all night, twisting her dreams into nightmares.

"You're being ridiculous," she muttered to her reflection. She furiously shook her jittery hands and wiped away the elusive smudge once and for all, then relined her lips for good measure.

The doorbell rang downstairs.

"Mom!" Lydia called, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, listening for her mother to answer the door. The house was quiet. The doorbell sounded again.

"Of course," Lydia said, annoyed. She set the dark pink liner back on the vanity and went downstairs to the front door. She peered through the window before rolling her eyes and opening the door.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded coolly.

Jackson stood with his arms crossed impatiently, his Porsche parked haphazardly in the driveway. "Where were you last night?"

Lydia's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" she asked, shaking her head minutely.

"Last night," Jackson repeated. "Where were you?" Lydia looked blankly back at him. "You said that you were going to spend the night last night and you never showed up. I must have called you at least four times!" He pulled out his phone to check. "Yeah. Four times." He held the phone up to Lydia's face to show her the call log.

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh,'" Jackson mimicked.

"I guess something more important came up," she said, throwing his words back at him. "Besides, weren't you the one who made it so clear that we're no longer in a relationship? Maybe you should spend a little less time trying to get with your ex-girlfriend and a little more time pursuing other options while you still have some. Clinginess doesn't look good on you."

"Don't kid yourself. I have plenty of other options," Jackson huffed. "At this point, you're just baggage."

"Really?" Lydia countered. "Then why is it you're crawling back to me when your hand gets sore, or is that your other option?"

Jackson opened his mouth to retaliate but was cut off by the sound of screeching brakes behind him. He turned around in time to see Allison stand on the brake then park only a few inches from his bumper.

"Hello, Allison," Jackson grinned charmingly as Scott and Allison got out of the car. "Scott," he acknowledged.

"Hey," greeted Allison. "What you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing," Lydia said. "He was just leaving, weren't you?"

"Fine," he said and stomped angrily back over to his car.

"What's going on?" Lydia asked as soon as he was out of earshot.

"We need your help," Allison said.

"Yeah," said Scott. "I -"

Jackson's horn drowned out the rest of what Scott said.

"What are you still doing here?" Lydia called out.

"They're parked behind me!" Jackson yelled.

"Oh yeah," Scott said. "Come on. We'll explain on the way."

* * *

"So what is all of this about?" Lydia asked once she, Scott, and Allison were in the car.

"We're going to try to find out were Stiles's been taken," Allison explained, glancing at the redhead in her rearview mirror. "My dad has maps of the whole town and its outlying areas in his office at my house. You and Scott saw the video, so maybe you two can figure out where he's being held." She paused here. "But…"

"But what?"

"I'm not allowed in Allison's house," Scott said. "I, uh, I kind of got banned from the property after we broke up. Her dad doesn't like me very much."

"I see," said Lydia. "So why doesn't Allison just take the maps out of the office and we can look at them somewhere where people don't hate you?"

"I can't," Allison said. "I'm not allowed to go into my dad's office when he's not there. He's out with Gerard right now, but I don't know when he'll get back. My mom's there now. She would notice if I was trying to sneak huge maps out of the house."

"And she isn't going to notice us sneaking your ex-boyfriend into the house? I'm pretty sure he's bigger and louder than a map, Allison."

"Maybe not if you distract her," Allison said.

"Me? No way. I don't know if you've noticed, but your mom is kind of scary."

"Come on, please?" Scott asked.

Lydia raised perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

"Please?"

Lydia groaned and rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. But if we get caught, I had nothing to do with it."

They pulled into Allison's driveway a few minutes later. Allison tucked her long hair behind her ear. "Stay in the car until I come and get you."

"Okay."

She and Lydia shared a look before getting out of the car and going in the house. Scott sunk down in his seat.

Victoria stood in the kitchen, dicing onions with a large knife. She turned when she heard the front door open and close, the knife held casually out in front of her.

"Hey, Mom," Allison greeted, coming into the kitchen.

"Hello, Mrs. Argent," said Lydia. "What are you making?"

"Hi, Lydia. Just some French onion soup. It's one of Mr. Argent's favorites. Allison didn't say you'd be coming over today," Victoria said, shooting her daughter a serious look.

"No, I just came over to borrow some shoes for a party later this weekend," Lydia lied smoothly. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not."

"I'll be right back, I think I left something in the car," Allison said and left Lydia with her mother.

"Speaking of shoes," Lydia continued as though Allison hadn't said anything, "where did you get yours? Allison mentioned you were a buyer for a boutique before you moved here."

"Oh, these? They're nothing special."

"No, they really make the outfit," Lydia was saying as Allison went back outside.

Scott was slouched low in his seat, only his eyes visible over the dash. Allison waved him out of the car. "Hurry up," she whispered.

Scott quickly slunk over where she was standing by the front door. "How much time do we have?"

"I'm not sure. Five minutes, tops. Follow me. And be quiet."

Scott followed her into the house. He could hear Lydia prattling on about something in the kitchen. He went to close the door behind him, but Allison shook her head. Instead, she motioned for him to follow her through the living room. Her father's office was on the other side of the house.

Allison stepped lightly, careful to avoid squeaky floorboards. Scott followed her every move as he held his breath. Lydia was right, Victoria Argent was kind of creepy. He was sure she'd hear him even if he just exhaled too loudly. He was thinking about what she would do if she heard him when he ran into the coffee table.

"Ow!" he gasped before he could stop himself. He felt his collar tighten as Allison grabbed by the neck of his shirt and pulled him around the corner into the hallway, pressing him up against the wall.

"What was that?" Victoria said from the kitchen.

"I didn't hear anything," Lydia said quickly.

"Allison?" Victoria called. "Is that you?"

Scott looked at Allison wide-eyed, panicked. She pressed a finger to her lips. "Go to the end of the hall," she breathed. "It's the last door on the right. Coming, Mom" she said louder over her shoulder. Scott stood still, looking scared. "Go," she whispered, pushing him towards the office. "I'll be right there," and she walked back into the living room.

Scott heard her talking to her mom as he inched carefully down the hall, keeping his back pressed firmly against the wall. The floor creaked ominously beneath him. He paused, straining to hear over his pounding heart. Allison's muffled voice kept going, uninterrupted. Finally, Scott reached the office door and slipped inside. He closed the door as quietly as he could behind him, then gasped for breath. A moment or two later, Allison and Lydia joined him.

"What the hell was that?" Lydia hissed.

"Sorry," Scott said.

"What did you do, drop a carburetor back there?"

Scott cocked his head to the side. "Do you even know what a carburetor is?"

"Do you?" Lydia shot back.

"Guys," Allison interrupted. "Do you mind?"

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

Allison carefully laid the map out on the desk and the trio crowded around, searching for answers.

* * *

Stiles' head snapped up as he heard the door open and Brett enter the room. He wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep or not, he just remembered thinking about what Scott and Lydia might be doing now. He wished he was with them.

"It's certainly nice to see you awake for once, Stiles," Brett said condescendingly. "Ya, thirsty? I brought you some water." He dug in his bag and held a water bottle out for Stiles to see. The cap was still sealed, but he eyed his kidnapper suspiciously. Brett laughed. "Come on, Stiles. Don't you trust me?" Stiles glared back at him. "Here," Brett opened the bottle and took a sip. "See? Now you."

"Sorry," Stiles said, his voice much raspier than he expected. "I'm a bit tied up at the moment." He jerked at his handcuffs to show he couldn't reach his mouth.

"Whoops. My bad," said the man. "Here, let me help you." He held the water bottle to Stiles' parched lips, as if he hadn't been beating him just over 24 hours before.

Stiles took a small sip to taste for anything wrong with the water. The liquid permeated his tongue, relieving some of the sandpaper feeling in his mouth. His thirst intensified and he couldn't help himself from taking larger gulps.

"Hey, not so fast," Brett protested, though not taking the water away. "I have plenty of water. You'll make yourself sick."

The kidnapper was right. As soon as the water hit Stiles' empty stomach, it came right back up. He turned his head away from the bottle and retched. His eyes tearing up his stomach acid burned his throat. After what felt like hours but was only a few minutes, Stiles' stomach was thoroughly emptied and stopped somersaulting. He was horrified to see specks of red amidst the bile and water spreading across the floor.

Brett seemed much less concerned. "Told you so," he said as Stiles wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Want to try again?"

Stiles nodded and Brett gave him back the water bottle. This time Stiles was careful to only take small mouthfuls at a time. He drained the bottle and Brett reached back into his black bag for another.

"It should be a comfort to know that I don't think you'll be in here that much longer," Brett said as he unscrewed the second water bottle's cap.

"And I was just settling in, too," said Stiles. "Is Scott doing what you wanted?"

"I think he's gotten the message, yes," Brett pressed the bottle to Stiles' mouth, silencing him. "He and his girlfriend spent quite a bit of time at the vet's today. She had an awful lot of books with her. I imagine they've tried to learn more about what the kanima is. They must have found something. They left in a hurry and went to your pretty little friend's house. Her pretty-face boyfriend was there, though. Better luck next time, eh, stud?"

Stiles gagged a bit on the water, letting it run down his chin onto his throat. Brett didn't seem to notice or care.

"They all ran back over to the Argent house. Something serious is going on there. You done?"

Stiles nodded again. He felt at least slightly more human now that he had some fluids back in his system.

"You're sure? There's still a little left," Brett said, shaking the open bottle in front of Stiles' face.

"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks," Stiles said as sarcastically as he could.

"Have it your way then," Brett said and he poured the remaining water over Stiles head. "I have a meeting to get to anyway. See you later, little man."

Stiles let the water drip over his face and onto his filthy shirt. Though he was sure Brett had done it to irritate him, the water felt good on his dry skin.

Brett left and Stiles heard the door click locked behind him.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing, Scott," he murmured.

* * *

"Hey," Lydia said. "I think I found something."

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters**

**A/N: I just wanted to say thank you for your support of this story! Please read and review if you like it!**


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